Play Me Your Apology
by iamnotamagpie
Summary: Sherlock has to apologise after he loses concentration and John loses his temper. One Shot. Written as a request.


**_A short one shot I wrote after a request from a friend._**

**_Enjoy!_**

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'YOU COMPLETE-'

The offending word was cut off by the horn of a taxi passing through Baker Street, the two men however, oblivious to the interruption; Sherlock Holmes stormed into flat 221B and took the stairs two at a time, coat billowing behind him.

Doctor John Watson, having not quite the same walking gait as his taller companion, strode purposefully through the door, stamping his feet on the steps to make his anger quite known.

'What were you thinking?!' His eyebrows were permanently stuck close to his blond hairline in exasperation.

'Clearly, I was thinking about how we are going resist arrest whilst trying to catch a murderous pharmacist!' Sherlock had discarded his coat on the coat rack by the door and collapsed himself onto the sofa, folding his long frame to fit.

John sighed heavily and pinched the bridge of his nose, frowning.

'Right, I'm making a cup of tea,' he stated, walking through the living room to the kitchen and beginning to fill the kettle.

'Excellent, I shall have-'

'You can make your own!'

Sherlock stopped talking abruptly as John flicked the switch on the wall and the water started to boil. Carefully, the detective picked up a newspaper from the floor and, without wanting to cause his flatmate any more anguish, opened a page as quietly as possible. He was soon bored by the days news, though the dating pages amused him slightly. Once he had deduced every lonely, single person's search though the wonders of daily printed pages - John was decidedly calmer having drunk his cup of tea - he retreated to his room.

* * *

**_One Hour Earlier_**

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They were striding through Hyde Park, John just keeping up with Sherlock's pace as they passed horses and riders from the local riding school. Sherlock, however, was oblivious to the surrounding occurrences, fully involved in his own mind. John had given up talking a while ago after realising no one was listening and was quite content to continue on their journey whilst Sherlock thought of everything that he could.

Suddenly, Sherlock stopped abruptly in the middle of the path, hands poised in the air, a look of realisation on his face. John had only just stopped when the consulting detective was off again, almost running as he retrieved his phone from his jacket pocket. Speed dialling as he went, he requested DI Lestrade and was put through almost immediately.

As he was relaying the information he had pieced together he didn't realise he was making his way towards the busy main road around the park.

His sentence was only halfway through when he stepped off the curb into the oncoming traffic and in the particular path of a black taxi.

John noticed Sherlock's lapse of concentration and sprinted towards the road, pulling Sherlock out of the way and back onto the pavement without a moment to spare. The taxi's horn blared as it drove past both men, now lying sprawled on the concrete.

John was breathless with the sudden exertion and Sherlock lay in shock, staring up at the blue sky.

'Sherlock? Sherlock, are you alright?'

Lestrade's voice through the mobile broke Sherlock out of his state and he soon had his phone to his ear again, steady cool voice continuing. He held out a hand to help a flustered and angry John to his feet and then continued on his way, along the paths this time.

* * *

Back at the flat, an eerie silence had descended as neither adult spoke to the other. John had withdrawn upstairs as Sherlock poked his head carefully round the door of his room. He exited into the living room and walked over to the window, checking the kitchen and hall as he went.

Meanwhile, upstairs, John was sitting on the bed reading quietly when he heard the noise. The sound of a violin being tuned and checked travelled up the staircase into his room. Soon, the tuning was replaced by a melody, unknown to anyone but John. As he listened to his friend play, he recognised the song as one Sherlock had written in supposed secrecy some months ago, until the doctor had mentioned it one afternoon. It was the only time John had ever seen Sherlock turn slightly shy. After John had told him how brilliant it was, the detective took to playing it only when there was reason to.

Like now, for example.

Sherlock was apologising.

John put his book down and listened to the music for a while until he knew it was coming to an end. Only then did he rise and walk downstairs.

Sherlock was standing at the window looking out onto the street whilst his violin bow gently stroked the strings.

John took his seat opposite and waited until Sherlock finished. On the last few notes, Sherlock turned and played directly to John, eye closed. When he was done neither spoke, letting the silence clear the air.

Finally, John stood and approached Sherlock who had not moved, still clutching his violin and bow. They looked into each other's eyes, Sherlock slightly apprehensive.

'Just don't do it again.'

Sherlock smiled at John's words and nodded slightly. John walked back to the main living room door.

'But you're still a-'

The door slammed behind him as Sherlock gave it a lopsided grin.

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_**Please review! **_


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